


Seat of Power

by Sziondaisy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Pure PWP, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sziondaisy/pseuds/Sziondaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron hates the Captain's chair and asks for Magnus' help to break it in</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seat of Power

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend over on Tumblr. I haven't read the new MTMTE issues so this doesn't follow any comic logic.

It all started with a chair. 

The Captain’s chair to be precise. 

There was nothing physically wrong with the chair itself, it was a fine chair if it were any other chair, but as the Captain’s chair it failed miserably. 

The chair itself was identical to all of the others in the control room in every way, except position. Small, unassuming and bland with its bare grey metal finish. Nothing about it screamed Captain’s chair. 

Megatron was disappointed. At first he’d walked around it, brows pulled tight, arms crossed over his chest and regarded it suspiciously. It had to be a prank to get a rise from him. No self respecting captain would use that. It wasn’t as if he’d been expecting a throne, but given the previous occupant, he’d at least expected a little flare, maybe some tacky flame decals painted down the arms or some carved graffiti born of boredom. 

Sighing inwardly, he dropped back into the chair and wriggled around until it was bearably comfortable, the chair creaked under his weight but settled as he did. It wasn’t the most comfortable but it would have to do for now, at least until he could get a replacement that better fit his frame. 

His last seat of power had been nothing short of a throne, dominating the room and drawing all optics towards it. It hadn’t been comfortable to sit in, but as a show of power, it went unrivalled. There was no denying he was the leader and they had been his subordinates. 

The Lost Light’s, Captain chair was a far cry from that, there was nothing dominating about it. It faded into the background, forgotten, one would never know from a passing glance if a Prime sat in it or a waste disposal mech. 

And that was probably the point. 

The Autobots had never displayed power like the Decepticons had, subordinates were encouraged to respect their leader not fear them. Through all his faults, Rodimus had been an approachable figurehead, working to be part of the crew and allowing them the freedom they wanted so they would accept him as one of them. 

Rodimus’ choice of Captain’s chair was obviously carefully picked to show he wasn’t above the crew. He was declaring himself an equal by using the same equipment as them. He was the Prime, they knew that and he knew they knew, there was no reason to rub that in when he wanted to be accepted.

The chair had to go. The sooner the better.

When it came down to it, the captain and his crew weren’t equal and the crew needed to know that. A clear chain of command was a necessity, not a choice. A good captain needed to have faith in his crew, to be able to rely on them in an emergency and a crew needed to trust their captain to make the right decisions. Worrying about whether or not the crew liked him wasn’t a problem because, in all honesty, Megatron didn’t really care. He was their captain and they were his crew, they would learn to respect him because of his actions and how he wasn’t blasé with their lives. They didn’t need to like him for that. 

How could anyone respect a captain who spent more time playing with the crew than they did doing their job? 

That had been Rodimus’ downfall and the ultimate reason why so many mechs voted against him as captain. 

Megatron tapped his fingers on the armrest as he analysed Rodimus’ failures. They weren’t all failures of course, Rodimus had shown his potential more than once, but he was young and impatient, living for the moment instead of planning for the future. Once the mech matured and found himself, growing out of his childish tantrums and constant need for approval, Megatron was convinced Rodimus would become a fine leader, instead of a knock off Optimus Prime. 

Himself? Well he hadn’t survived leading the Decepticons by being a weak leader. Granted it would take time for the crew to accept his way of doing things, but they would work better for it. Strict shift patterns kept mechs from acting out of boredom and kept the brigs clear, a closing time at Swerve’s would put an end to drunken antics and mid-shift swims in the oil reservoir, and perhaps the most important of all, making mechs accountable for their own actions. They were a group, but they were a group of individuals and there were only so many times that the group mentality could be blamed for a stupid decision. 

Magnus loved it. Reports were filed on time, signed by the correct mechs and contained minimal errors thanks to Megatron’s ‘lessons’, keeping mech after mech up for days at a time writing out the same report until it was error free and accurate. After that, mechs were quick to make sure their reports were up to standard before sending them in. 

The ship ran a lot smoother with a real captain at the helm, one who gave orders and expected results. No more wishy-washy leadership.

Megatron shifted, twisting to get comfortable in the hard seat. The control room was silent save the creaking of his chair and the rhythmic blip of the navigation system saying they were still on target. He’d sent the other control staff off to do other tasks, wanting the calm serenity of the the bridge for himself so he could think. A practice born from living through a war and needing time to think unhindered by subordinates wanting his attention or bringing him new information. 

He’d idly assumed the other off-duty officers would either be recharging or relaxing. He wasn’t expecting company at all, so when Magnus entered, it was a pleasant surprise. Any other mech he would have sent away, but there was something calming about the ship’s second in command. 

Magnus didn’t seem surprised to see him there at all, “I thought I would find you here. You’ve been off shift for hours, It’s late, you should be resting by now.”

"So should you," Megatron replied cooly. 

Magnus had no reply to that, he’d finished his shift hours ago, but to him, Working was relaxing and he enjoyed working until the need to refuel and recharge forced him to retire for the night. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine Megatron following the same work pattern, they were similar in many ways, needing to know everything around them was in its right place before they could relax. 

"Have you refuelled at least?" Magnus asked, walking over to Megatron.

Megatron shook his head, “no, not yet. I was going to do that soon.” 

"Then why are you still here? There are mechs who can watch the control room." 

Stretching his legs out, Megatron crossed them at the ankle and steepled his fingers, elbows on the arm rests. “I am debating the finer points of a good chair. This one is a form of torture.” 

Magnus’ brow barely rose, but Megatron saw it. “It is just a chair.”

Well that was exactly the point, it was /just/ a chair. “Sit in it yourself and then you can tell me if it is comfortable,” Megatron said as he hauled himself out of the chair and moved aside so the larger mech could sit. Magnus was larger and heavier than and the chair would be extra uncomfortable for him. 

Expecting it to be some kind of trap, Magnus was cautious, approaching the chair as if it were a live bomb. He turned and sat down slowly, lowering himself in carefully and trying to angle his shoulder turrets away from the sides. “I see your point,” he agreed begrudgingly, “Rodimus is half our size though.”

"A captain needs a captain’s chair and that isn’t a proper seat of power."

Magnus cocked his head slightly, “so it’s about power not comfort?”

"Can’t a mech have both?" Megatron replied, reaching out to press a hand to Magnus’ chest when the large mech tried to rise, "no, no, I didn’t tell you that you could get up yet. I’ve had to sit in that chair all day, you can manage a breem or two."

"You could have gone to work from your office," replied Magnus, stilling under the hand, "there’s nothing in the rules to say you have to be out here all the time." 

Megatron shook his head, “I’ll not hide away and lead from behind a desk. I have always commanded from the front and I will not change that now because some chair gets the best of me.”

"Well what are you going to do then? It’s not like we have a spare chair on board that will suit your needs." 

Megatron’s lips curled up in a smirk and he stepped forward, pushing Magnus back into the chair and sliding into his lap, straddling his legs and wedging his knees between Magnus’ hips and the side of the chair. The chair whined under them but held their weight regardless. “Well, to be honest, I was hoping you would be so kind as to help me break it in.”

"This is against regulations," Magnus replied simply, unsurprised by the request. It wasn’t as if Rodimus hadn’t tried it before, numerous times, some successful, some not. Mechs seemed to think he was attractive and that brought some problems with it.

"That wasn’t a no."

"Someone could walk in or see us on camera."

"So?" 

"It is against-"

Megatron interrupted with a shake of his head, “the rule as I remember it is that a captain can’t date a subordinate. We aren’t dating, this is a quick release of stress and breaking in my chair.”

When put that way it seemed like a slightly more appealing offer, but not one he hadn’t heard before. “We could have the same outcome in a berth.”

"Not unless you want to carry my chair there." Success though. Pleased that Magnus had agreed they could interface, even if it wasn’t explicitly stated - when and where was less certain but that didn’t matter yet. Megaton slid forward, fully settling himself in Magnus’ lap where the heat of his interface panel was impossible to ignore. "So feel like breaking your non existent rules yet?"

Magnus frowned, the thought of a berth was more appealing than both of them being cramped up on the little chair, but he had Megaton in his lap and that was quite a compelling argument on his leader’s part. Reaching down, he gripped Megatron’s aft and pulled him closer, “no rule breaking, just a little stress relief. Quick stress relief.” 

Megatron pressed back into the hands with a pleased growl, “good. Now less talk and more spiking.” To get things moving faster he opened his panel and reached down to thumb Magnus’ spike cover. Magnus gasped quietly as his panel opened with a quiet snick. He couldn’t help but cast a wary glance to the door, but Megatron was quick to distract him by thrusting their spikes together. Attention back fully on Megatron, back where it belonged at that moment, Magnus took in the sight of the impressive grey mech looming over him, fingers deep in his own valve, activating his own sensors and lubricants. “You’re slow and if you hurry it up, next time will be in a berth and I’ll show you how good I really am with my mouth.”

Slapping Megatron’s hands away, Magnus tutted and pulled the other close, pinning him to his chest with one hand, snaking the other down his back struts, between his legs to tease the valve entrance already dripping for him. Megatron revved his engine deeply and moaned as he felt the fingers thrusting into him, hitting sensor clusters that made him squirm. Lifting Megatron’s hips into place, Magnus positioned his spike and thrust up, sheathing himself in the warm heat with one smooth movement. Above him, the ex-warlord bit his lip and groaned, hands tightening on Magnus’ shoulders as he rolled his hips with as much movement as he could get from the grip keeping him pinned down. 

Joint moans filled the large room as they moved together, stroking, touching, locked in a fight for dominance Megatron didn’t want to win. Magnus, so unlike the other lovers he’d had in the past, had no qualms about taking control and, for once, Megatron’s position went unnoticed by his lover. Magnus wasn’t gentle and nervous around him, wasn’t worried about upsetting him and suffering the wrath of an angry warlord. Magnus didn’t question why he was the one doing the spiking.

"Harder," Megaton hissed, fighting against Magnus’ hands to throw his hips down rougher. 

With a shake of his head, Magnus continued the same pace, guiding the thick, black hips at an agonisingly slow pace. Spike slowly sinking into a valve he could never have imagined he’d be inside. It was all very surreal, he’d only entered the control room to sync his datapad with the ship controls and instead was hip deep in his captain, the former warlord of the Decepticons. It wasn’t a planned series of events but damn if it wasn’t an interesting turn. 

The moment of distraction was all Megatron needed to snatch control back for himself. So used to seizing opportunities, the second Magnus’ hands loosened on his hips, he reached down to wrench them off, pinning them to the arm rests. Magnus growled in annoyance when he realised he’d been trapped and was about to tell Megatron to let him go when the grey mech threw his hips down roughly, taking the spike harder and faster than he’d previously allowed. All Magnus could manage was a long drawn out moan as he leaned back, feet scrabbling for purchase as he tried to thrust up. 

Magnus was a larger mech that he’d had in the berth for a long time and the thick spike stretched him to almost uncomfortable levels. Megatron lapped it up, the burn was wonderful and for a brief moment - until Magnus managed a particularly rough thrust that made stars burst behind his optics - wished they were in the berth just so he could really enjoy the mech under him. 

He chuckled darkly as Magnus’ usual demeanour slipped and he got a brief glimpse of a needy mech hiding under the surface. Releasing Magnus’ wrists, Megatron reached down to stroke his spike in time with his own movements. Whether or not Magnus noticed he was free, he never moved, his hands tightly curled around the edge of the armrests. 

Pleasure built up fast, fuelled by moans and racing air vents. The threat of being caught. The rush of fragging the enemy. And for Magnus, the tiniest, tinest admittance that he was breaking the rules and it was wrong. 

As they neared their overloads, their movements became more jagged, more desperate. Moans came freely, choked orders that went unheard as pleasure took over. Megatron overloaded first, like a exploding supernova. Taking Magnus’ entire length, he ground his hips down, grinding his external valve sensors against Magnus’ spike housing, passing on the jolts of electricity that burned hot with pure pleasure. Magnus didn’t even notice the transfluid streaking his chest, he let go of the arm rests and gripped Megatron’s hips, trying in vain to push Megatron off before he overloaded, but instead only managed to pull the smaller mech closer. Overload came with a cry, a moaned version of Megatron’s name that bore no resemblance to the actual word. His hands turned to claws, biting into Megatron’s hips as he pulled the other mech down and overloaded inside him, regretting it almost immediately as the overflow dripped down over his thighs. 

Venting deeply, they collapsed together, sticky and loud in the quiet room. 

Their combined weight leaning on the back of the chair after the rough use, was too much for it and with a loud creak of protest it collapsed under them, sending both mechs sprawling to the ground. Magnus grunted as his back hit the floor with the added force of Megatron on his chest. Megatron managed a scoff as he looked over his shoulder to the twisted remains of the poor chair. “I said break it in, not break it.”

"My apologies," Magnus replied, still high off the after effects of overload. 

It was a few kliks before Megatron hauled himself up, Magnus’ softened spike slipping from his valve followed by his transfluid. Megatron made no move to hide the fluid dripping from his valve as he offered his hand to Magnus and pulled him to his feet. “So. About our next time. Your berth or mine?” 

"After this carnage. Yours," Magnus replied flatly, looking at the chair and shaking his head.


End file.
